


Women In Garbage

by amathela



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Crime Fighting, F/M, Partners to Lovers, Partnership, Plans, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amathela/pseuds/amathela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate and Clint go 'undercover.' (It's Clint's plan, okay?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Women In Garbage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kateandbarrel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateandbarrel/gifts).



"I still don't get what we're doing here."

"It's called undercover, Katie-Kate."

"Undercover." Kate raises an eyebrow, looks doubtfully down at what she supposes could generously be called clothes. "Right. Obviously."

"Hey, I have done this kind of thing before, you know."

She knows. Which is why she expected him to be, you know. Better at it. "Let me guess. Natasha was the brains of the operation."

"Hey," he says. And then after a minute, scratching the back of his head, "Well, yeah."

Yeah.

"I'm starting to get the feeling you don't have complete confidence in my plan."

"What gave it away?"

"It's a good plan."

"What part?" she asks, sneaking half a glance at him while keeping the rest of her gaze focused on the doorway across the alley. He's grinning, staring at her openly; she supposes she'd be laughing, too, if she could see herself.

"We're being stealth," he says. "You look great, by the way."

"I'm wearing rubbish."

"You're wearing second-hand clothes."

"That you pulled out of the dumpster?"

Clint doesn't answer, but he does look a shade more amused, which is all the answer Kate needs. Great. Because she always wanted to spend her Friday nights huddled in an alley wearing literal garbage.

"Besides," he says, "we're supposed to be hobos."

"So why didn't you dress up?" she asks, eyeing his slightly-dirtier-than-something-he-could-have-pulled-out-of-his-wardrobe t-shirt, and enjoys the fake indignation that flashes across his face.

"So this is what I get," he says, pretending hurt feelings. (She's guessing - he could just have indigestion.) "I plan this whole operation, provide you with everything you need -"

"You mean the part where you handed me a pile of dirty rags and then made me drive while you looked it up on Google maps? Yeah, that was very forward planning of you."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"You got us lost three times."

"That was the app's fault, not mine," he says. Kate waits. "Okay, it was my fault the second time."

"I take it back. I envy and admire your leadership skills."

"You mock now, but this is going to work."

Yeah. The sad part is, she's pretty sure it will. 

"If it doesn't," she says, "you owe me a new pair of shoes." Shockingly - at least, if you're Clint - they weren't able to find any her size in the half hour of scrounging they did, which means her limited edition chucks are now covered in - well, she doesn't want to look too closely, but she's pretty sure it isn't going to wash off.

"If it does," he says, "you owe me dinner."

"I'm pretty sure I saw an old pizza box back there, if you want me to dive for it."

"Funny."

"I know."

"You sure you don't need me to go over the plan again?"

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, could you, please?"

"Sarcasm," he says. "Nice."

"Just getting into character."

"So your character is you, but homeless?"

"Actually," she says, "I was kind of thinking of channelling you."

"But homeless?"

Kate gives him her very best innocent expression, and Clint scowls at her. Cheap shot, she knows, but he's so _easy._

Besides, it's not exactly a super complicated plan. (It's one of Clint's, so really, how could it be?) She and Clint wait here, pretend to be random homeless people, witness Russian bad guys doing bad guy stuff, stop them. That part, she gets. The part she doesn't get is why she has to smell like this while they do it.

(Clint, on the other hand ... It's not really his fault; being an Avengers is pretty much a full-time job to start with, plus he has his own things on the side. So if he sometimes doesn't have time to shower in between, well. Kate's got used to it.)

"Okay," he says. "Whatever. This is going to be great, you'll see."

-

It isn't great.

It isn't anything even remotely close to great, which Kate feels she more or less adequately conveys with the withering glare she shoots at Clint. It is, in fact, the kind of not-great that ends up with her liberally smeared in garbage (and not the wearable kind), smelling like something even Clint would eject from the fridge.

"All right," he says, as they practically collapse into his apartment. "That could have gone better."

"Which part?" she asks, pulling something out of her hair. She doesn't bother look at it to see what it is; she doesn't want to know. "The part where we got made? Or the part where we nearly got our asses kicked? Or was it the part where I ended up looking like this?"

"I think you look cute," he says. "Like Oscar the Grouch."

She's probably the right colour for it, anyway. And definitely in the right mood.

"Yeah," she says. "Because that's sexy."

"Like a sexy Oscar the Grouch, then."

"Shut up."

"Okay," he says. "I'm sorry. I didn't follow the plan."

Which isn't even anything she can blame him for, really; not when that man was clearly in danger, not when she and Clint were in a position to save him. But she can pretend.

"But you've got to admit it was a pretty good plan."

"I wouldn't know," she says, peeling off her shirt as she advances towards the bathroom. She leaves it where it falls; let Clint clean it up, if he cares. "We never got a chance to actually do it."

She can practically hear his shrug, probably because of the miscellaneous sludge caking his shoulders. "There'll always be a next time. I'm sure we'll have plenty more excuses to dress up in garbage in the future."

Kate can't help letting out a short laugh. The thing is, he's probably right about that. Unfortunately.

She's about to shut the door behind her when something blocks it, and Clint squeezes in behind her, shutting it behind them both.

"Um." she says. "Hi. You know I'm about to take a shower in here, right?" Usually, she'd care a little bit more that she's standing in front of him in her bra, but she doubts he can see through the layer of grime that somehow crept in under her shirt.

He shrugs again. "It's my shower."

He's got to be kidding. No way is she putting up with that.

"And I got here first," she says. "Besides, you owe me. Big time. A new pair of shoes, if I remember right."

"Not fair," he says. "That was if that plan didn't work."

"It didn't," she says, gesturing up and down her body.

Clint looks. More than usual. A _lot_ more than usual.

"It did," he says, after he finally drags his gaze back to her eyes. "Hypothetically. We just didn't follow it."

"Hypothetically doesn't win bets," she says. She ignores the ogling; it's not like she's never been guilty of the same. "For that matter, you can throw in a whole new outfit."

"What for?"

"For making me leave mine back there," she says. Retrieving them had been part of the plan. One of her favourite parts.

"What?" he says. "You can't buy your own clothes?"

"I can," she says. "I shouldn't have to."

"Fine," he says. "But only if you buy me dinner. Because that plan rocked."

"Obviously," she says. But whatever, she'll buy him dinner. She was going to end up staying for pizza and crashing on his couch, anyway.

"And only if we share the shower."

Okay, that one is new. She raises an eyebrow. "Share?"

"This place doesn't have unlimited hot water," he says. "It's freezing, and I need to wash off as much as you do."

Possibly more, if that's even possible. Kate's pretty sure he took the worst of it when the dumpster was upended, though probably not intentionally.

"No touching," he says. "I promise. Scout's honour."

She laughs. "You were never a scout."

"Avenger's honour, then."

Which makes her want to laugh again. She's met the Avengers. Tony Stark is as Avenger.

"Whatever," she says. "But I call dibs on the shampoo."

Unfortunately, the size of Clint's shower pretty much matches the size of his water heater, so the whole 'no touching' thing goes out the window more or less immediately. And not in a good way, either. Clint elbows her as he's reaching for the soap; she nearly gives him a black eye as she lathers, rinses, and repeats. (And repeats. She'll stop when her hair smells like _hair_ again, thank you very much.) Also unfortunately, despite the tiny space, there's pretty much no way for them both to be in the spray at the same time.

"Would you hold still?" she asks. "You keep pushing me out of the way."

"I'm just trying to get some," he says. And then adds, "Water." Which makes it worse, somehow.

"Then maybe you should have waited for the shower to be free," she says, backing up against him, trying to get her head under the spray.

"Kate."

"Relax," she says. "You'll get your turn."

" _Kate._ "

There's something in his voice that makes her pay attention, and she turns around, glancing up at him. His expression looks - pained? 

Or not.

His hands go to her hips, and she moves forward instinctively, her body moving with his before her brain can say, _but Clint._ The pressure feels good, his fingers digging in just below her waist, the water running down his skin and onto hers.

Oh, crap, she is majorly in trouble here.

"Kate," he says again, his voice strained. At least she knows why, this time.

"I though you said no touching," she says lightly.

"That was the plan," he says. "Not very good at those today."

"Today?" she asks.

He responds by kissing her, tilting his head down, his lips warm even under the hot water. Which is probably going to run cold soon, she realises, but in some dim, forgotten part of her brain that's easy to ignore. Like the part that deals with, you know. Logic. Making good life choices.

"This is a bad idea," she says, pulling back. Mostly because one of them has to.

Clint tilts his head in agreement. "Not the worst one I've had today."

Okay, so that much is true, at least.

"Come on, Katie," he says. "Make bad decisions with me."

Well. They're a team, right? So she kisses him.

Which is when the hot water runs out.

-

Clint's the one who jumps out of the shower screaming, which Kate's betting she can probably leverage for a good long while. She steps out a little more slowly and a lot more calmly, grabbing the towel out of Clint's hand. She knows for a fact that he has more than one, but she'd be willing to bet that the rest of them are sitting unwashed in a laundry hamper somewhere. Or on his floor.

"Well," he says. "That was a bit of a mood killer."

She laughs. "I knew I should have just told you to take a cold shower."

"I took one," he says, giving her a look that makes Kate's heart race a little faster. "Not sure it helped."

Oh. Okay, then. So it's not just going to go away if they pretend it never happened. Which is - good?

Possibly disastrous. But she's going to lay odds on good.

"This is still a bad idea," she says. 

"All my best ones are," he says.

Which is so not true. But Kate's willing to go with it.

-

An hour later, Kate reaches for one of Clint's (thankfully clean) shirts to go pay the pizza delivery guy.

Five minutes after that, she actually makes it to the door.

Half an hour after that, they finally get around to eating the cold pizza.

"You know," he says, "I'm not sure about buying you new clothes. Maybe we should try this instead."

She raises an eyebrow. "Naked crime fighters?"

He shrugs. "Sounds good to me."

"A lot of things sound good to you," she says. "That's how other people know something's a terrible idea."

"Hey," he says. "I usually know that, too."

"And how often does it stop you?"

He pointedly looks her up and down, and she rolls her eyes. Okay, fair point. But maybe they can talk about that another time. As in, when she's actually wearing underwear.

"By the way," he says. "This doesn't count as dinner."

"Does too," she says. "I paid."

"It's four a.m.," he says. "Which means this is more like breakfast."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously," he says. "You need to make an honest man out of me."

"I'm pretty sure that's not what that means."

"Oh, and now I'm supposed to know what everything means?"

"Before you say it?" she asks. "Yeah, it probably couldn't hurt."

"Overrated," he says. "Arrows speak louder than words, and all that."

"Actions," she corrects, unthinking. "Actions speak louder than words."

"I'll show you action," he says, reaching for her. Which is terrible. But in a way she can live with.


End file.
